Mom knew how Wren was, how he felt about me, and still, she chose to stay with him. Worse than stay, she never once stepped in. She never stood up to him or defended me, not really. She never got involved when he was belittling or beating me. She turned a blind eye to all of this man's indiscretions. Even when they were staring her in the face. The woman was fucking wallpaper.

"You listening to me, you little punk?" Wren continued to taunt. "This is my goddamn house, and you walk my fucking line."

Our house wasn’t a mansion like Rourke's and the walls were thin. Mom was in their bedroom right now, listening to this asshole berate me, and choosing to bury her head in the sand.

"You expect to go to college next fall?" he sneered, folding his arms across his chest and blocking me from going up to my room. "You think I'm going to pay for you to go off to Alabama and get high?"

"Don’t worry, sheriff," I bit out. "I don’t need you or your money. I'll make it just fine on my own."

"Ah, yeah, that's right. You're hot property, ain't you, bigshot?" He narrowed his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk to explain his behavior. The stench of alcohol in the air was coming from my breath.

"QB1. Ocean Bay's answer to Tom Brady." He laughed darkly. "You ain't shit, boy, and you sure as hell ain't going to the pros. You're gonna burn out just like your old man did. Your mama thinks you're gonna be this big football star, but I know different. In five years' time, you'll be back here, with your tail between your legs and a string of baby mamas in your wake. 'Cause you ain't got what it takes for the bigtime, boy. You ain't nothing special. Mark my words; you'll end up working on a fishing trawler just like every other piece of shit in this town that thought he was too big for his boots."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Sophie watching the altercation from her bedroom doorway. Her worried eyes landed on my face and I discreetly shook my head, telling her with that one simple gesture to go back inside her room and look the other way.

Sophie didn’t need to try to defend my honor. She was fourteen years old, for Christ's sake, and Wren was her father.

Contrary to how Wren treated me, he doted on my little sister, and I didn’t want to fuck that up for her, not when I wouldn’t be around next year to watch out for her.

"I guess I'm just gonna have to prove you wrong then, huh?" was all I responded before I pushed passed the creep and moved for my room.

"How much of a hotshot do you think you'd be without this?" he threatened, catching ahold of my right arm and yanking it behind my back. "Hmm? Think you'd be worth shit without your throwing arm, quarterback?"